


Happy Birthday Dean

by discussionsonpaper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Birthday, Dean's Birthday, Dick!John, Gen, child!Dean - Freeform, child!sam - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2313020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discussionsonpaper/pseuds/discussionsonpaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Sam had not spoken to his father since while both he and Dean went by their day normally. He did not understand it. It was Dean’s birthday; something good had to happen today.'</p><p>It’s Dean’s birthday, what happens when his own father seems to forget about it? What does Sam do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday Dean

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a post/tag I saw on tumblr (I would link it but I have no idea how to do that on the notes section.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural

_He took you to a freakin’ baseball game?” Dean angrily spat to his, apparently, younger half brother. His eyes betraying how hurt he really felt, his own father never did anything like that. All that he did for him and Sam was teach them how to hunt and kill the things that go bump in the night._

_“Yeah. Why? What’d Dad do on your birthday?” Adam asked innocently. He did not know the inner turmoil that was happening in the older mans head._ ****

**January 24, 1991 (Dean-12 Sam-8)**

The early morning sun flitted through the light green curtains, highlighting the two boys, curled up in their beds. On one bed was a small boy, no older that 8, most of his hair flopped on his face, however parts still stuck up in different directions. One hand clutched his blanket closer to his chin while the other rested, unseen, underneath the pillow. On the other slept an older boy, a small line of dried drool came from his mouth. His body sprawled over the single bed, both of his hands and his left leg hung off the bed, waiting for someone to grab them.

Soft snores broke the silence; the soft click of the door opening came from the left. Large, heavy footsteps coming through the door woke up the older boy. With quick reflexes he grabbed the hand gun, hidden underneath the pillow and pointed it towards the unknown intruder. After a couple of bleary blinks later, things came into focus. In the entrance of the room stood his haggard father, a line of red drifted onto his face from somewhere in the mane of hair he had.

“Hey dad,” a (now) twelve year old Dean sleepily greeted his dad as the older man slipped into the hotel room they had rented. “How did it go-oo?” he asked, a yawn slipping out as he fell back onto the hard bed. His hand slid under the pillow, returning the gun back into its hiding place.

John Winchester stared at the near teenager fall asleep again instead of waiting for his answer, chuckling before moving the couch to get some sleep before he left later that day to continue hunting.

It was a few hours later the brothers woke up. The strong stench of old puke, old alcohol and various other scents hit them, but they ignored it. Like always. Their attention was brought to the figure sitting on the couch, guns placed neatly in a line in front of him; his concentration was firmly on the weapons in front of him.

“Happy Birthday Dean,” Sammy whispered to his brother from his spot on the bed, trying to untangle the blankets that had a firm grasp on his feet. Dean whipped his head to the small calendar that sat on the table resting between the two beds. Ignoring the flashing red light on the alarm clock, he checked the date; January 24. It was his birthday. But as always, he didn’t expect much, instead he just stood up and walked to the joint bathroom.

Sam heard the clinking of the guns being put back together, each placed carefully on top of each other. “Hey Dad,” Sam said hesitantly, his voice wavered as he noticed that his father didn’t even look at him. A non committal grunt came from the couch, he ran a hand through his hair, feeling it glide through his hand, “I was wondering if we could go to that nice restaurant, you know, the one up the stree-“

“Sammy, you know that I have to work for the next week. I’m sorry, but no,” his father said, still not bothering to look up at his youngest son

“But Dad, today is D-” Sam continued to try

“No Sam! Now go watch some TV or something,” he replied, agitation wrapped his voice, squeezing it so that it came out less controlled than usual.

“But-” he tried one last time in desperation

“SAM!” the older man shouted, this time staring into his eyes, anger and annoyance flashed beneath them. Without another word, he grabbed some more weaponry from his duffle bag and went back to cleaning.

* * *

**Later**

It was a few hours later. Sam had not spoken to his father since while both he and Dean went by their day normally. He did not understand it. It was Dean’s birthday; something good had to happen today. He noticed his father getting his things together, placing each weapon carefully into the trunk of the impala. A plan formed within his head, filling it up. He just needed the perfect opportunity.

THERE! His father left the trunk open, and in it, sitting innocently, was the duffle bag. With him telling Dean the orders he has already memorised he snuck behind them. He could see the light glint from the clamp that held the money together. He pulled out some of the notes, trying to get the correct amount. He could see his brother roll his eyes as he heard his father say, “And be sure to look out for Sammy,”

“I know Dad,” Dean huffed, “I know,”

With a last ruffle of both boys’ hairs, John Winchester stepped into the Impala and left. The dust blew into their face as it veered away. Sam could hear Dean’s frustrated sigh. He turned to see Dean already half way to the hotel.

“Wait! Dean!” he yelled, running as fast as he could with his short legs.

“What do you want Sam?” Dean spat still walking. He felt his younger brother pull at his sleeve, trying to bring him in the other direction.

“Just, we, we… have to get food!” Sam thought quickly, stumbling over his own words as he continued to pull on the 12 year olds arm.

Dean let out another annoyed groan but allowed him to be pulled, “You better be quick Sammy, and I’m staying out side.” He compromised.

“Fine. Perfect. Whatever. Let’s GO!” Sam spoke in short answers impatiently. He puffed as he continued to pull Dean.

As soon as Sam entered the gas station across the street, the sound of old music assaulted him as it crackled from the old radio that was behind the counter with the equally old man, who glared at the boy with beady black eyes. His yellowing teeth were shown when he smiled at his with malice, barely shown behind the greying beard the fell down to his stomach which protruded from the waist band of his jeans. Sam shivered at the sight.

He went down the aisle. He ignored everything as he walked to the pastries. He ignored all the chocolate that stuck in your teeth after the first bite. He ignored all the drinks that his father seemed to drink after every job. He ignored the food that they might have actually needed. Instead he walked to the end to see what he was looking for. He quickly moved to the counter with the package gathering the last two objects he would need.

Dean stood outside the door staring at the ground. His foot scraped the floor as he moved slightly to the music in his head. He stopped when he heard the bell ring, the music poured out breaking him out of his daydreaming. But he still did not bother to look up until two feet interrupted his staring competition with the floor.

And there stood his brother, his large jacket falling off of one shoulder. A sheepish smile overtook his face as he tried to fix his hair while loosing the battle against the wind. And there, in his hands, he held a pie. Twelve candles stood proudly around the edges. He stared at the pie in wonder. How did he get the money? Why did he do this? Before he could do or say anything, Sam pulled out a bright green lighter. Ignoring the bewildered look his older brother gave him, he lit the candles. 

One by one each one lit, signifying each year that Dean had been alive. Each seemed to hold a different years worth of memories. Past birthdays, those times with his brother, the moments with his mother and father, memories of Bobby. And with each good memory his smile grew.

“Happy birthday Dean,” Sam whispered smiling at the awed look of his older brother.


End file.
